And then again on bus rides to school.Then at markets. Then in shops.On Facebook. Through text. Over phone calls.

Rising together till she fell.

But she refused his advances one day.So he stained her cloak with fear one night.

Her sun never rose there after.As she lived by the fear of light.
She burned her cloak, to hide the stainsWhen his family paid the five hundred kina.
Forgive and forget, her Pastor prayedGod punishes because we are all sinners.

And he sniffed at some white stuff.Thought he was the right stuff.And clenched at his heart one day.

– Myocardial InfarctionThe coroners transcription.Was all that was needed to say.

That’s when they came for her.

In the thick of her fear,Extinguishing her light from the world.

The lawyers, the police.The accountants, the priests.

They chanted our ancestors words.

You, the girl who witched his heart.The doctor said “you broke his heart”.

You deserve to die, the witches way,The girl who lived, by fear of light.

-Hans Lee

Commentary

I wrote this poem with a lot of hate and disgust at a part of Papua New Guinean society that I can’t reconcile with who we are as a modern nation. For all we strive to be – holding on to our culture and customs and celebrating it – we are also still held back by the fear and deeply entrenched superstition that we harbour in the undertow of our conversations. I don’t mind being controversial here because someone has to be.